


His Brother's Keeper

by akirakurosawa



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, How Do I Tag, M/M, Russingon, apart from Aredhel Turgon and Fingon every character is in a non speaking role, as in elenwe died and fingon and turgon kinda talk, author fancies herself funny, i dont take criticism i had to get this out of my head, im not the boss of me, liberal misappropriation of osanwe, no beta we die like High Kings of Noldor, this is my ship and i will burn on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akirakurosawa/pseuds/akirakurosawa
Summary: "... and finding no other way they endured at last the terror of the Helcaraxë and the cruel hills of ice. Few of the deeds of the Noldor thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardihood or woe. There Elenwë the wife of Turgon was lost, and many others perished also;"OR: After the loss of Elenwë, Írissë pushes Findekáno to talk to Turukáno. It does not go well.
Relationships: Aredhel & Fingon | Findekáno, Elenwë/Turgon of Gondolin, Fingon | Findekáno & Turgon of Gondolin, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	His Brother's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormXPadme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/gifts), [fingonsradharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingonsradharp/gifts).



> I am overwhelmed with real life, and I lowkey hated it, but I could not fucking concentrate on my fucking studying until I expelled this depressing fucking thing from my head. So here. Have some Russingon angst and even MORE Nolofinwean siblings angst during the crossing of the fucking Helcaraxë. 
> 
> This one goes to padmexstorm and fingonsradharp bcs they are amazingly patient with me and I love and cherish them so very much. And then some. And even more.
> 
> I will still be unavailable on my social media, bcs now, after writing this fucking thing, I may FINALLY be able to concentrate on my studying. Catch you all at the end of September, unless another stupid thing like this makes me lose sleep and just. Gah. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think - I will answer every single comment I ever got at some point in life, because I read them occasionally and they make me feel so much better. My brain is just generally overwhelmed and cannot concentrate. Fuck. Yeah. So. Enjoy, I guess?

_**His Brother's Keeper** _

They stopped and made camp for the - night? Day? Perhaps for the - the moment. Time was arbitrary in this cursed place, amongst the undying screams of chill waters and even chillier winds. There was barely any variance to the landscape, and there was nothing to mark the passage of time. But they stopped, for they could not go on. Not immediately, not… not then. Not right away. Not after what had happened.

The tragedy shook them to their core and spared no one’s feelings. There have been losses before, but, and Findekáno _knew_ he was being callous, and entitled, and wrong, but those losses were not _personal_. Not in the way this one was. Not to him. This one was too close, and too cruel, and too devastating. So they stopped and made camp for the time being, which they have not done for a long time, and definitely not for any of the others they have lost, those who fell through the ice, or starved to death, or whose _fëa_ or _hröa,_ or both, found itself unable to endure any more of this raw and icy landscape, so they halted for a moment, and never moved again.

Perhaps they should have stopped before. Perhaps this was their punishment for callousness. Perhaps, if they extended the due honors in mourning to the ones who were gone, who had died _before_ , this would not have happened. Perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided.

Perhaps then Elenwë would not be gone.

Around them, the icy winds were howling. It was dark, but then again, here it always was dark. They have been on the road for _years_ , and he lost count quite some time ago. He probably should not have, but minds play tricks and he was very good at compartmentalising. Very good at not thinking about things he preferred to ignore. Very good at numbing the pain.

Father probably knew how long they were out here. Father was the leader, he had to know. He could ask, perhaps?

Finno did not want to ask. He did not want to know. One foot ahead of the other, one step at a time, that was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that kept him from succumbing to the cold. The only thing that helped him hold himself together was the thought that some day, perhaps soon, he would again feel the warmth and the _fire_.

_(-darkened embers of light and the laughter of the one most beloved - his hair, fire itself; his voice, warmth personified; his laughter, a burn on all the senses; his touch; a torch to light and warm and devour, and he would give it willingly - give himself over willingly, as he always did – as he always would-)_

Findekáno shook his head. The snowflakes fluttered around him, carried away by the wind, and murmured softly, so as nobody else were to hear it: “ _Soon this too shall pass_.” The words were snatched by the wind in an instant, as if they were never there at all, but he felt a tiny sliver of hope that they may have been heard. That they may have helped. That something will soon change, and their fortune will turn towards something better. _It could hardly get worse_ , Finno thought, and then flinched.

They have lost so much. They have all lost too much, but there was no turning back. Not for them. No, nothing could be done for them. They were all both Betrayers and Betrayed, and both of those monikers hurt, but only one tore at his heart and doused his soul in foul darkness.

Finno had to believe there was a good explanation for everything that had happened. He had to believe there was something he knew not, something that would put the actions and consequences of their bearings into perspective. He had to believe there was some reason, some method to the madness that overtook them all. He had to believe that the worst was behind them now.

( _He had to believe he was still_ loved _._ )

If he could make himself believe it, perhaps it would come true.

He spared a look at the bundle of blankets under his feet and bent down to check on the occupants of those blankets. The only thing visible, peeking from the cloth, was Itarillë’s face and a lock of her bright golden hair, so much like her Mother’s. A sharp stab of grief went through Findekáno at the thought that she would not see her Mother for a long, long time, if she ever would. The beautiful face of his niece was scrunched in a grimace, lines of sorrow evident on her brow and forehead. There were tiny crystals of icy tears forming on her eyelashes, and he wiped them away gently. Finno dared not disturb her sleep, for she was still weak, even though she stopped shivering some hours ago. She was sleeping on her side, and curled all around her, protecting her and shielding her from the elements and the world, was Írissë, who was - awake.

He startled when he met her gaze and lost his balance. Her face scrunched up in derision as Finno flailed a bit, trying to catch his balance. The look in her eyes promised painful retribution if he were to disturb the young _nís’_ rest, so he slowly righted himself and tried to smile. It came out as more of a grimace, and his sister said nothing, but the way she looked at him, not blinking, not moving, not doing anything, was… condemning.

Findekáno never could hide his feelings well - everything he felt was more often than not written on his face, and she must have seen his sadness, because her gaze softened somewhat, even though it did not lose the sharp edge completely. She blinked twice slowly, then three times in quick succession, and then once again. He grimaced; he did not think it would work. They were too exhausted, too cold, too hungry to have the control over their _hröa_ and _fëa_ that was needed.

Írissë rolled her eyes, seeing all his thoughts on his face, and then repeated the series of blinks, ending with staring him down with insistent fire in her eyes. Finno tried to resist, but he knew it was hopeless. Írissë always got what she wanted.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could still hear the wind, and feel the cold, but he concentrated inwards and let all else fade into the background, until the only thing he could feel was the slow beating of his heart. Then he braced himself, and opened his eyes, looking straight at her dark irises. His mind opened, and she slid in, making him recoil from the strength of her feelings.

_-pain-rage- **how could they** -sorrow-grief-hurt-hopelessness-hurt-rage- **I hate them all** -hurt-anger- **they did this** -rage- **I will cut off his ears and his** -amusement-pain-betrayal- **how could they** -rage- **how could they betray us so** -incredulity- **how could he** -rage-rage-sorrow-_

_-confusion-bewilderment- **Írissë calm down** -pain- **I cannot understand** -_

_-incredulity- **what is there to understand** -hollow-rage-_

_-confusion- **what do you want to say** -hurt-_ **nettë _please_** _-hurt- **make sense** -_

_-anguish- **I would burn them all like they burned the ships** -anger-sadness- **it’s so cold Finno** -_

_- **I know** -regret- **I know-** shame- **I am sorry** -regret-pain-_

_-anger-hurt- **it was not your fault** -rage- **we trusted them** - **we always trusted them** -rage-rage-RAGE- **how stupid we were to believe them like us** -disappointment-anger- **you need to talk to him** -determination-_

_-confusion-hope- **to whom** -_

_-amusement-rage- **to your brother** -fondness- **you idiot** -anger- **to Turukáno** -mocking- **or are you too much of a coward** -rage-_ **Astaldo** _-derision-_

_-indignancy-shame- **I know** -sadness- **I know** -apprehension- **what do I say** -hope-hurt-pain-_

_-sadness- **probably best if you say nothing** -grief- **let him talk** -grief- **if you can get him to** -_

_-hope-amusement- **I know** -sadness- **I will** -_

_-sadness- **you cannot avoid him forever** -grief-_

_-shame- **I did not** -shame-_

_-love-hurt- **you did the right thing** -grief- **or we would have lost both him and Itarillë too** -love-anguish-_

_-sadness- **I know but** -hopelesness-shame- **I wish I could have saved**_ **her _too_** _-anger-grief-_

_-sadness- **I know** -anguish- **do not expect him to be** -anger- **magnanimous** -rage **-I am not** -rage- **and I am not the one who just** -grief- **lost my** -grief-anger-love-_

_-grief- **yes** - **I understand** -hope-grief-_

_-anger- **and do not dare** -rage- **mention**_ **them** _-rage-rage-_

_-hurt-hope- **I will not** - **I am not** -sadness-hope- **I am sorry** -_

_-resignation- **I know**_ **háno** _-sadness-grief-anguish-love-_

Finno closed his eyes. When he opened them, Írissë was not looking at him anymore, hiding her eyes beneath her curtain of hair. She turned a bit and hugged Itarillë closer, burrowing her nose into the _nís’_ neck and tightening her hold. It was a clear dismissal, and Findekäno knew when he was not wanted anymore. He nodded to himself, still shaking off the emotional transference that every attempt at _ósanwe_ with his passionate, loving, fierce sister always left behind, and slowly stood up, leaving his sister and his niece to rest.

Findekáno Astaldo knew he was not named falsely. He knew himself, and he knew he was no coward. So he took another deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and turned his gaze outwards, searching for his brother.

The first one he spotted was not the one he was looking for, but Finno did not mind. Arakáno was unmistakable in his magnificence and his commanding presence, even after the years they spent crossing this thrice-cursed ice desert on foot. Oh, he was gaunt, and thin, and exhausted, as they all were, but there was a strength in him that came from within, a determination Finno sometimes envied in its straight-forwardness and obstinacy. Arakáno was much like Turukáno that way, and this thought served to sober Finno up a bit. He bit his lip in contemplation as he observed how his youngest brother was directing others in their party on how to make camps, and both Findaráto and Laurefindelë were flanking him, giving out orders of their own.

Arakáno needed no help from him. He had not needed Finno’s help for a long, long time. But there was another brother, who did need help, or guidance, or just an outlet for the pain, so once again Findekáno reminded himself he was no coward, and searched further, narrowing his eyes at the next scene he happened upon.

Some hundred feet further, Artanis was shouting at some of the warriors who looked properly cowered, and Father was standing behind her with a stern look on his face. Angaráto and Aikanáro were nowhere to be seen, which was probably smart of them. The icy winds obscured Findekáno’s vision somewhat, carrying snow in their path, but he could have sworn he saw a glimpse of a smile on _atar’s_ face when Artanis shouted so loud, she made three of the _nér_ in front of her take a big step back. It may have only been a trick of the light, or of whatever passed as light on the Helcaraxë, but the whole scene did make him feel better. If nothing else, Artanis was always one of his favorites, and she was never less than magnificent in her, mostly justified, rage. After her own near-demise when the ice broke underneath her a couple of - years? - ago, it was good seeing her determined and just… present in the moment again.

But they were not the ones Findekáno was searching for, so when he saw a solitary figure standing in the distance, he gathered his much-lauded valiance and with a heavy sigh, he went to try to talk to his brother.

He had no idea what he would say. What could he say anyway? It has been a – week? perhaps a bit more, since Turukáno lost Elenwë. Since they _all_ lost Elenwë. It was too soon, the wounds too fresh, and the comprehension of her _actually not being there_ anymore was still lacking. Finno caught himself listening for her bright laughter, unmistakable even in the greatest throes of wind howling, somehow making the world and the obstacles they encountered seem just a bit brighter. A bit less hopeless. He was not the only one, he knew that. He caught his siblings and his cousins all looking around at some point with a lost expression on their faces, as if to call for someone, and then remembering and retreating into themselves more.

She was gone, the beautiful, golden-haired Vanya that looked at his prickly, awkward brother and saw something in him that nobody else saw and claimed him for herself. The lovely ray of sunshine that always put a smile on his Turukáno’s serious face, who dragged him out to dance, who gave him a daughter and gave Finno a niece he cherished as if she were his own. Lovely Elenwë, who stood by his brother always and decided to follow him until the end of the world, even when others of her kin called them all foolish and begged her to stay behind like they did.

Findekáno had not spoken to his brother since the moment he dove in after Turukáno and Itarillë and pulled them both from the water. He had not spoken to Turukáno since his brother turned to him, wet and freezing and in shock and, amidst expelling water from his lungs, screamed ‘ _Elenwë_!’ That broken prayer broke Finno’s heart too, when he had to say ‘I am sorry. She is gone.’ Turukáno had only looked at him and then screamed for his daughter, and had not spoken to Finno, nor sought him out, since.

One foot ahead of the other, careful not to break the treacherous ice beneath them, Findekáno came to the place where his brother stood, seemingly unaware he had company. He started to say something, but the words caught in his throat and he ended up just observing his brother, for the first time since Elenwë - since the tragedy happened.

Turukáno stood a couple of steps away, his gaze boring into the distance. The desolation on his face seemed to convey perfectly what Findekáno knew, but refused to contemplate - there was nothing out there. There was nothing to look forward to. The landscape did not change, no matter how much they wished it to. There was just ice, and snow, and the never-ending vastness of dark blues and greys and whites.

_Is this what death is like?,_ Findekáno thought, and then shivered, less from the cold and more from a strange feeling of perilous foreboding. He wished not to dwell on this thought further, so he made himself concentrate on observing his brother. Finno took a few steps forward, until he was standing right beside him, and forced himself to look.

Turukáno’s gaze was somber, his eyes hollow. His face had never looked more ghastly, nor was his noble bone structure more prominent than in that moment. Partly it was due to exhaustion and exertion, but even worse, grief marred his features, clear for all to see and observe. Tear tracks on his cheeks stood out, cleaning the grime and turning to ice, but Turukáno did not seem to notice, nor did he seem to care.

He looked empty, hollow and haunting, and Findekáno wanted to go to him, to hug him, to touch him, to tell him… something, _anything_ , anything that would pull him from the pain and despair that was threatening to swallow him whole. He would give anything to offer his brother respite, and happiness, and not to see the shadows dance upon his face, deepening the abyss of sorrow and ache evident in his _fëa_ and _hröa_ both.

He knew nothing could help. Nothing would help, for… Elenwë was gone, and his brother’s heart was broken.

Findekáno knew not what to say, in face of that grief. He _wished_ \- he _hoped_ , selfishly, as he closed his eyes briefly and hung his head, so as not to look at Turukáno, that he would never have to experience it. For this pain, this devastation he saw on his brother’s face was… too much. Too much for any _nér_ to bear. For any person to bear. Too much for… for anyone, really.

They were all so tired, and it was so, so cold.

A glimpse of a movement in his peripheral vision made him turn around to face his brother. Dark eyes bore into his, and there was something in them that was lacking before. There was a - a spark of some sort that was not there before. It made Findekáno hopeful, for anything was better than the emptiness of before, the vastness that could compare to the ice before them. He found himself suddenly invigorated, and hopeful, for perhaps not all was lost. It made Finno optimistic, and warmed him from the inside, to see a reaction, any reaction from the shell that was his brother for the past… from when the tragedy occurred. From when Finno failed to save his brother’s love. Perhaps his brother would be able to get past this and forgive him and move on, somehow, in some way, not completely, but perhaps -

Findekáno Astaldo was always good at not seeing things he did not wish to see.

“I shall never forgive him.”

Turukáno’s voice was colder than the ice around them, which was something Finno thought impossible. His words were clear and harsh, and seemed to echo in the howls of wind. They cut through Finno, and his heart started thumping faster. He was confused for a moment, because to whom could he be referring?

_Finno himself? But no, Finno dragged both his brother and Itarillë to the surface when Elenwë finally let go and prevented them too, from drowning? Could he be blaming him? But no, that would be absurd, Turukáno would not wish to see his daughter perish. And he is talking about a third person, so not Finno. Their Father? Ñolofinwë was not even near, when the tragedy happened? Perhaps Uncle, for leaving them stranded and forcing them on this path in the first place-_

All Finno’s musings and fearful thoughts were put to rest when Turukáno spoke again. His heart, however, cleaved cleanly in two.

“I will _never_ forgive your _Maitimo_.”

Turukáno’s voice was terrible and steady, the voice of the Void itself, devoid of any inflection and all emotion. It was a statement, a fact, an unchangeable truth, an expression of a broken heart and of unbendable will.

Findekáno knew, as his brother spoke, that it was an _oath_.

He closed his eyes as they filled with tears he could not stop, even if his life depended on it. He wanted to rage at his brother, to call him out on his cruelty and the unfairness of it all, for what has _Maitimo_ to do with all that had happened?

( _Finno knew the answer. Everything. He had_ everything _to do with it._ )

No matter how much he wished it otherwise sometimes, Findekáno knew what this was about. He knew what Turukáno thought, even if he himself, did not know or understand. Or perhaps he did, and Finno did not know which option was worse. The picture was clear in his mind, the thought process clear as the ice that stretched below their feet, and he kept his eyes and his mouth closed, so as to prevent himself from weeping out loud.

Turukáno had just lost the other part of his soul, and Finno could not imagine what that felt like. Findekáno was the one that pulled him and Itarillë away when the water threatened to pull them under, and it was the right decision, because Elenwë could not be saved and Turukáno would have only lost his life and his daughter’s, alongside his wife. In the best case scenario perhaps, if it could ever be called such, he would have left Itarillë an orphan, and that may have been even worse. So Finno did the right thing when he prevented his brother’s death. Logically, this was all true, but Findekáno doubted his brother could comprehend it that way. So he blamed Finno, for… for not letting him perish. For making him live through this agony, instead of joining his love, his soul, in death. Finno refused to feel guilty for saving his _hanno_. He refused to regret it, even for a second.

However… Turukáno probably did not see it that way. What the mind knows and what the heart feels are often at such odds, they make a person irrational in their pain and sorrow. And in all that, Finno knew that his brother could not make himself renounce nor despise Finno. Turukáno had to forgive his brother, because he did the right thing and they were _brothers_ , but he still, somewhere in his mind, blamed Finno. So he did the next best thing, and transferred all that hate, all that blame and all that was unforgivable in Finno’s actions to the one he knew was the dearest to Findekáno’s heart.

_A betrayal for a betrayal. A love for a love. A death for an oath._

And Maitimo… glorious Maitimo. His sweet Russandol. His dependable Nelyafinwë. His dearer-than-brother, his more-than-friend, the other half of everything he ever was. He had betrayed them, had he not? They knew not what happened, they only knew that the ships that were supposed to come back for them from Losgar never did. They only saw the fire and understood that the ships were burning, and nothing else. They were left on the banks, newly Doomed and suddenly betrayed, and the only way available to them was forward. Forward, onto the Helcaraxë, into the ice and desolation and grief and _death_ , for there was no turning back.

_Did he burn the ships? Did he hold a torch in his palm and set fire to the ships, like he used that same hand to set the fire in me? Did he spare a thought to me, to our kinship, to our friendship? Did he regret leaving me, casting me away, when I never spared a thought when coming to his aid? Did his hand shake when he doomed me to be left behind? Or did he, as always, do exactly as his Father ordered, without remorse and without any thought or guilt?_

_No_ , Finno thought to himself. _No. Not him. Not Russandol_. _Not_ my _Russandol._

This is what he avoided thinking about. This is what he _refused_ to think about, what he buried so deep in his mind, it was now painful to pull it out. The pain of the betrayal clawed at his insides, like a beast unleashed. It hurt to even contemplate it, but he had to. Turukáno always knew how to hit where it would hurt the most ever since they were but youths, with his fists and his words both, and this time was no exception.

Findekáno knew that all his siblings, and most of their cousins for that matter, knew at least _something_ about the affection he and Maitimo had for each other. It was something they never actually _talked_ about, but there were enough jests and allusions, ever since they were but young _nér_ , to let him know he was as transparent in his affections for Russandol as he was in almost everything else he did. Maitimo was better at hiding it, more stoic in his expressions and more controlled in his reaction, but then he had to be, given who his Father was. None of them ever had any objections, or if they did, they never voiced them, and that was just as Finno preferred it. It was an unspoken rule that no one was to jest about Finno and Russo with their parents, especially their Fathers, present. That… would have been a disaster. But everyone in Valinor knew that Nelyafinwë Fëanárion and Findekáno Ñolofinwion were dearest of friends and inseparable from one another.

( _\- the kindling of fire inside him was nothing new and yet always as exciting as the first time - the gentle touch of fingers in his hair and the shiver when they touched bare skin - ‘gold will always look best in your lovely obsidian hair’ - how it pleases the eyes and all the senses - touches freely given and kisses never spent - ‘you are fire and warmth and all that is home to me’ - that sort of inferno can never be extinguished - and he never had a reason to wish it gone- every touch a blessing - every kiss a benediction - every secret a thrill - every tear a promise - every breath a declaration - every moment an eternity - every word a word of love -)_

Findekáno shook his head to clear his mind when memories looked as if they were going to overwhelm him. All that he knew of himself and of Maitimo was right there, safely sequestered in his mind, and now that he had to think on it, the flood of emotions was screaming inside him. The pain, the betrayal, the hurt, but also the understanding, the gentleness and the love he still felt. The love that he still believed in. The love he knew was not gone. For how could it be gone, or extinguished, when the abundance of it was never-ending? 

And it may not be enough. The love itself may never be enough, but. But. On account of all the love he felt, and all that he knew of his beloved’s character, and on account of the centuries and centuries of other memories, private, loving, gentle memories that he had with Maitimo, Finno could not, and would not believe that Maitimo betrayed him. He would never believe it, not until Maitimo himself was standing before Finno, tall and proud, and declared his betrayal. Finno would not believe that his friendship, and his love, and he _himself_ , had so little value to Maitimo. He would not, and he could not, for he knew his own heart, and he knew Maitimo’s heart also.

Findekáno Astaldo was not named in vain. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

Turukáno said nothing as he observed his face. The spark in his eyes was not gone, but when he looked, really _looked_ at Findekáno, his features twisted, first in confusion, then anger, and finally, derision. Findekáno bore it all as impassively as he could. His heart was already broken, because he knew that his brother was going to make him choose. And they both knew how that would end.

Dearest, hurting, uncompromising Turukáno.

“But you will, will you not, _brother_.” Turukáno said, and it was not a question.

Findekáno bore his look of disgust and contempt the best that he could, because his brother was hurting, and he was in pain, and the grief he was dealing with was enormous. He swore he would bear whatever words Turukáno threw at him here and now and would never condemn nor blame him for it, because he _was_ guilty, and he loved his brother, and he wanted to help. When all of this was over, and it would have to be over at some point because nothing can last forever, not even this pain, so when it was all over and done with, he would speak to his brother again and explain. And perhaps then, Turukáno would listen, and finally understand.

“You have _already_ forgiven him,” Turukáno said, and his eyes were blazing.

Findekáno wanted to shout that he did not forgive Maitimo, that he, too, was hurting, that none of them knew what had happened and that perhaps it was a treachery of some sort, a trick of the Enemy, or just a spitefulness of their Uncle, and that Maitimo was not to blame, and that he understood how Turukáno felt because he knew not whether his beloved was even alive anymore, because they were not married, not like Turukáno and Elenwë are -

And then he remembered. Elenwë was gone. Like they _were_ married and are not anymore, because she perished on the ice on this foolish journey that could have been avoided, if the ships that Maitimo said were coming for them actually came. And Turukáno would have still been with her, in death, yes, but together, if only Finno did not grab him at the last possible moment and dragged him out of the ice.

So he said nothing.

Turukáno was still looking at him with an unreadable expression, his whole body taut and tense. He was assessing Finno, like he assessed everything around him, be it a ballroom full of dancers or a new horse for his stables. Finno knew that he was about to be judged lacking by his little brother, and he swallowed the heartache that thought inevitably brought.

When Turukáno took a step closer suddenly, taking off the glove on his right hand, Finno almost stepped back, but held his ground at the last moment. He prepared himself for whatever his brother was about to do, because he knew he deserved it, be it a punch or a curse, he would not step away from a deserving punishment.

Findekäno Astaldo was not named mistakenly. He would not cower, nor turn away, nor avoid any consequences of his actions. So he stood his ground and awaited his brother’s judgement.

Gentle hand cupped his cheek, and Finno’s eyes widened. He stopped breathing for a moment, for even though Turukáno’s hand was covered with a glove the moment before and should have been warm, it was as cold as the frost that surrounded them. He could not stop himself from leaning into the touch, even as his brother opened his mouth and spoke, every word a dagger straight into his heart.

“He will be your death, _háno_ , and you are the only one who cannot see it.”

Findekáno felt the tears come, clouding his vision. His brother’s face crumbled somewhat, revealing great pain, and he brushed the tears away gently, which somehow hurt Finno more than if he were to strike him. Turukáno leaned in slowly and kissed his forehead, and Finno closed his eyes and let the tears fall, as his brother’s whispered words struck the very core of his soul, a promise and a premonition.

“And you will let him break your heart.”

There was no warmth coming from Turukáno, but Finno still felt even colder when he moved away. He stood there, unwilling and unable to open his eyes as he slowly sank to his knees, his heart broken already, his _fëa_ weary and exhausted, his _hröa_ succumbing to the strain of unmeasurable grief of past decades.

Findekáno Astaldo was named justly. That was never in question, for everyone knew him to be both skilled and valiant. But here, on the planes of infinite ice and cold, he was just another _nér_ with a broken heart full of anguish and sorrow.

Findekáno crumbled to his knees, a sob encompassing but a drop of his grief escaping his throat. Tears innumerable filled his vision, and he felt as if his chest was about to burst from the onslaught of torment inside. He saw nothing, felt nothing, not even the cold, so lost was he in the physical manifestation of his grief that was a long time coming.

The thunderous ringing in his ears and the ominous wailing of the ice storm prevented Findekáno from hearing the parting words his brother spoke, as he turned away towards the camp, leaving his brother to purge what he could of the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“And for that, I will _never_ forgive him.”

Both Turukáno’s steps and Findekáno’s sobs were quickly swallowed by the unforgivable ice storm. All around them was the vastness and the abyss of Helcaraxë, mirroring the chasm that had finally opened fully between the brothers; the chasm that could not, and would never again, be bridged.

**Author's Note:**

> This lowkey happens in the same universe as, well, all my other Silm stories. Lemme know what you think - I worship every single one of your comments and kudos in the breaks of overindulging in coffee and memorizing the fricatives.
> 
> P. S. Bae, I love you like rlb.


End file.
